Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (3 page)

I gauged the direction from which the bill had come and retraced its path. I figured it must have come from the back of the
train, where a special Pullman car was hitched.

The car shone with the Great Seal of the United States. The car belonged to the government!

I spotted two men stepping from the shadows of the platform onto the Pullman car. They were too far away to see clearly.

“Hello!” I shouted, but they couldn’t hear me. I headed toward them and lowered the pitch of my voice: “You dropped your dollar–”

“All aboard!” a conductor shouted. A sudden wave of passengers cut off my path as they shoved their way toward the train.
I struggled against the tide of people but made no headway toward the two men.

It was no use. I gave up, put the dollar in my jacket pocket and let the crowd push me toward the center of the train. Teddy
and I climbed aboard the passenger car. Moments later the conductors blew their tin whistles, and the train pulled out of
Pennsylvania Station.

I looked out the window of the passenger car door as the train–and the beating of my heart–picked up speed. I was on my way
to San Francisco! The sun was setting, but I felt as if the curtain was rising on a great adventure.

6:30 AM

“Wake up! Wake up!”

The words dragged me out of sleep this morning and started my first full day on board the Continental Express.

I had figured the uncomfortable wooden bench and my excitement would keep me awake. But sometime during the night, the rocking
motion of the train had lulled me into deep, dreamless sleep. Now I didn’t want to wake up.

“Get up and play with me! Now! Now! NOW!” the voice whined.

I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Silence. Whoever it is has left, I thought.

Then pop! Something wet sprayed all over my face.

What on earth? I opened one eye. Squinting against the light of the just-risen sun, I could make out a little girl with pigtails
tied with blood-red ribbon. She was leaning against the seat in front of me and blowing bubbles of spearmint gum in my face.

Disgusting!

It was the girl from the platform who had arrived in the long black car. I closed my eyes and wondered why I’d never trained
Teddy to bite pigtailed girls.

The girl didn’t leave. Instead, she became more insistent “You’re awake, silly boy. Don’t pretend. Play a game of hide-and-seek.
Now. In the baggage car. I really, really, REALLY want to!”

She paused, and I was sure she was getting ready to blow another saliva-filled bubble. My eyes flew open and I sat up, startling
her. “Little girls shouldn’t blow bubbles in the faces of strangers on trains,” I said sternly.

Her lips puckered and she sucked in a long breath. I didn’t need to be a detective to know I was about to witness the biggest
tantrum in the history of the world. “What’s your name?” I asked quickly, trying to avert the approaching storm of emotion.

The question took the wind out of her sails for a moment “Asyla,” she snuffled quietly. “Asyla Notabe.”

Before I could introduce myself, Teddy growled softly, and a shadow fell over my seat. It was the woman with the long black
hair and gloves. Looming over us, she said, “And I am Mrs. Rabella Notabe, her mother. Why are you bothering my daughter?”
Her eyes flashed with anger.

I started to explain. “I–”

But Mrs. Notabe wasn’t interested in what I had to say. She took her daughter’s hand and they left. I could hear Asyla’s whining
drifting away as they headed out of the car.

Still in my seat, I stretched my stiff muscles and glanced around. The coach car was like a large open room, filled with 30
wooden benches just like mine. Almost all of the other seats were filled by families or businessmen.

This old car was in pretty good shape but starting to fray around the edges. Windows–a few with cracks–lined each side and
presented dusty views of the passing scenery. There were old-fashioned kerosene lights instead of gas, and they smelled like
burning toast. Still, last night, those lamps had cast a dim but friendly glow as passengers had arranged themselves for the
long trip.

Just then my stomach grumbled, letting me know it was time for breakfast.

“Hungry, Teddy?” I asked my bulldog, and almost instantly answered my own question. No! The sandwich bag that Cousin Frederick
had packed was in tatters at my feet. Teddy had found it and eaten every last sandwich sometime in the night. There was no
more food. Teddy looked up at me with his sad eyes, and I was just about to forgive him when he licked one or two last crumbs
from his slobbering mouth.

So far it had not been the best start to the day.

Father had given me money for emergencies, and I had tucked it safely into my left sock. But since I was just hours into the
trip, I didn’t want to start spending it already.

Then I remembered I still had the dollar I found. And a dollar can buy a three-course breakfast in the dining car. I thought,
I’ll ask the men in the government Pullman if they lost a dollar yesterday on the platform. If they say they don’t know what
I’m talking about I’ll keep the dollar. Fair is fair.

“Stay!” I told Teddy, but I saw there was no need. His belly bulging, my bulldog was fast asleep, snoring happily.

Swaying with the rocking train, I walked toward the back of my car. I passed sleeping passengers and others who were enjoying
breakfast: delicious smelling meats and bread they had packed (and which bad dogs had not eaten).

The next car back was first class. Here travelers had much more comfort and privacy than in coach. Doorways that led to small
compartments lined the hallway that ran the length of the car. Each of these compartments had two padded benches that faced
each other–with plenty of room for the passengers inside to stretch out and enjoy meals brought by a porter.

I slid open the rear door of the first-class car and stepped out onto the connecting platform. A coupler joined this car to
the Pullman behind it. The area between the two cars was open, and the rushing wind plucked at my cap and threw bits of dirt
in my eyes. When I finally cleaned my eyes, I saw a small plaque to one side of the car’s door:

If anyone is authorized, I am, I thought. I was on important business. I had a financial transaction to conduct with the government!
Besides, I had to go through the Pinkerton car. It was the only way to get to the government Pullman, which was in back of
this car.

I opened the hallway door and stepped inside. Luckily for me, a 30-foot-long hallway ran along one side of the Pinkerton car
all the way to the other end. It let people pass through the car without disturbing the famous family of detectives. The Pinkertons’
private quarters were on the other side of the hallway wall. They could be accessed only through locked doors at either end
of the car. Thick red velvet curtains were drawn across the windows that ran along the outer wall, blocking out most of the
early morning sun. Two electric bulbs burned in the middle of the hallway, spreading pools of dim light across the thick red
carpet that ran the length of the passageway.

I closed the door behind me–and then froze.

When Killian was still alive, Father would take us fishing. After sitting in the hot sun all day, we’d want to take a dip
in the water. Father would always say, “Never dive into unknown waters!” He had meant that the water might be shallower than
you thought or you might bang into a submerged rock. But I think that warning works for every situation. Examining a new environment
can be important in detective work. You never know what you might discover if you look before you leap.

So I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light in the hallway. And my patience paid off.

Stretching across the floor, about three inches off the ground, was a thread. It was the color of the carpet beneath it–so
it would be hard to see.

I crept closer and saw the thread was made of a very thin fiber. Someone passing through the hallway would snap it easily
and wouldn’t even know it. But the broken thread would show that an “intruder” had been there.